Boys Will Be Boys
by Crazy Dame
Summary: A day in the life of the MacManus brothers.


"Murph! Stay still!"

"Gah! Get offa mae. Off!"

The two were going at it again. _Again_. The sound of their bodies scuffling against the floor and a few grunts thrown in gave it away. They looked like a one huge mass of Irishy goodness. Something with two legs, four arms, and four legs... and only one brain in between them at the moment.

"I'm not tryin' t-" Connor's words cut off as Murphy's right arm comes up to wrap around his neck, pulling him down sharply in a headlock. Damn, he thought he had gotten that arm. Pulled, he's forced stomach down against the cold cement floor as he feels Murphy's knee pressing into his lower back as he leans down against him.

"Show's yeh tae mess with mae while I'm tryin' tae sleep." The last word had been uttered before he was thrown off balance as his brother had rolled over, pinning him beneath his lean frame, back to chest, and gasping for breath as he pried the arm with the vice like grip away.

"Get thae fuck over yehrself, bucko." Chuckling as he elbows the younger sibling hard in the ribs before jumping up and turning around quickly. He knew better than to turn his back on Murphy. He knew a _lot_ better than that. "I wasn't gonnae rouse yeh. Promise." Feigning innocence as he holds his hands up in surrender, blue eyes bright as the little squeak in his voice gives him away as he's charged at, a soft "eep" escaping him.

"Yeh're a nawful fibber, Connor. Yeh an' I both know this, as does Ma." Shouldering him hard in the stomach in a tackle like stance, although he only does it to push him a fair good distance away before straightening up and bouncing his brows challengingly. "Givin' up on mae already? Where's thae fun in that?" Spreading his arms out wide, although his body is completely tensed and ready for whatever his brother may do.

Pushed away with smirk, he puts his hands up in his typical _"I'm-goin'-tae-beat-yehr-arse-black-an'-blue"_ stance and gives Murphy a challenging look of his own. "Aye? An' how's that, exactly? I'm not thae one that fidgets like mad when put on thae spot." Fighting fire with fire, watching as his brother puts up his own hands.

"At least I don't squeak like a fuckin' _bird_ when I lie." Smiling triumphantly as he moves towards him, always making the first move and watches as Connor's eyes narrow and he stands his ground. "An' I wasn't thae one kicked in thae jewels today." Wincing at the rememberance of that, shaking his head in shame.

The flat was too small for this. Too _fuckin'_ small. Given that they only had two cots, a rickety table with two complimentary chairs, a run down couch with the most of the fluff missing pushed up against the wall, and a run down fridge in the corner. Which was just barely holding onto life and trying to keep any scarce trace of food in it, edible.

"Oy, that was harsh." He flashes Murphy a brief glimpse of his pearly whites before he drops his hands down and charges him as he had been charged earlier, knocking him to the ground. His right hand moves up on instinct (well, more like reflex) to cup the back of his brother's head to keep it from bouncing off the floor and it's his knuckles that come in contact with it instead with a loud "_crack_". He groans, heat spreading through his hand before fading and becoming a dull, but steady, pulse. It was on now. For real. "Yeh owe mae for that one." His left hand coming up as he begins to punch the younger sibling relentlessly in the ribs.

He had known something was coming. Something was _always_ coming. The gears were always turning, never stopped. Connor always seemed to be a step ahead. No, not _seem_. He **was**. His arms had wrapped around his brother's lean frame, feeling his head smacking into the palm of his brother's hand. Ouch. "That's what yeh always say." Grunting as he's punched, pushing his head back hard against his Connor's hand to increase the pain already throbbing there before his right arm comes up and catches the older sibling square in the jaw, knocking him off but his head thumps against the ground in retaliation as Connor pulls his hand away. "Ugh." He rolls away, jumping up as he rubs the back of his head. Ribs shown no sign of concern. That was showing his brother that it had hurt and he wasn't about to give in like that. Connor was rubbing his hand, inspecting his knuckles before shaking it around a bit as if attempting to shake the dull pain away. The left side of his face a bright pink and reddening increasingly, there was going to be a bruise.

He crosses his arms in front of him, pulling his black tee up over his head and tossing it aside before popping his neck. Making the tattoo of the Virgin Mary dance. "C'mon, c'mon. I'm goin' tae teach yeh how tae respect yehr elders." Grinning dispite the pain in his face before putting his hands up once again, rocking back and forth gently as he begins to circle around the younger MacManus. Younger by just a minute or two, but still younger and he was going to be sure to remind him. His lean torso is ripped with muscles, the muscles in his arms and stomach pulled taut to lessen the blows that were, without a doubt, going to be reigned down on him.

And as if on cue, he is pulling his own shirt off as well and tossing it aside. They were of one mind. One heart. One soul. His own hands move up in that all too familar stance of his own as that dangerous glint comes to his eyes. That spark of fire, what made him come so alive, was now rising to the surface. He couldn't surpress it. "Yeh know I don't give a fuck for my elders. Why start now?" His own body toned and ripped, just a wee bit thicker than Connor but it was purely muscle, which begin to tighten in his own stomach and arms as he gets ready. "Try yehr best, boyo."

And that's all that needed to be said, Connor moving forward fluidly as his right hand shoots out to connect with Murphy's stomach with a loud "_smack_" and a soft grunt from the one recieving it. Murphy's left hand coming around to catch Connor in the same move and push him away before charging him and slamming him up against the wall with a grunt of his own. They would be hurting terribly after this, they both knew it but they lived in the moment and it showed.

"Yeh're losin' yehr touch, Connor." Murphy's voice deeper, darker, as his right fist continues to connect to his twin's left side. The skin turning pink and then reddening like his face had done, Connor responding with a grunt and an ill fated uppercut that knocks Murphy's head straight up. The sound of his teeth clacking together reaching his ears. If this had been a cartoon, his head would have popped up and smacked the ceiling before coming back down. But it doesn't happen that way and he staggers back, away from his brother and turns his head to the right and spits out blood. Fuck.

"No, yeh are." Connor has a murderous look of his own, out for blood, eyes narrowed as he pushes himself from the wall and launches himself at his brother. Using his left knee, he knees the side of Murphy's right thigh hard ("giving a deadner" as it's called, having had his own fair share of them) as his hands move up to grasp the back of his brother's head and push him down before getting him in a headlock with his left arm and beginning to lay down blows against his back with his right fist. He's breathing hard, the pain in his hand and side forgotten as he blocks it out completely. Focusing on taking Murphy out first instead of the other way around, knowing he would never hear the end of it if he didn't. His arms are moving at an alarming speed, fist smacking **hard** against any exposed flesh that Murphy fails to cover up during all of this as he tries to pull away. Shoving the younger one away after a few moments, he backs up as he regains his stance as he knows there will be hell to pay for what he had just done. "Aye, yeh're losin' yehr touch." Spurring Murphy on.

"SHIT." The word growled as he feels his twin's knee connect with the side of his thigh, knowing he would have one hell of a charley-horse. Shoved away, he straightens up as his back pops loudly and he rolls his neck around this time. The Virgin Mary once again dancing. The spectator and cheerleader... although who she's cheering for is unclear. His azure gaze is bright and alert, hands coming back up as he beckons his beloved brother closer but it's he, himself, that closes the gap between them as he swings with a tight arch that catches Connor's jaw. The already injured side throbbing painfully as his face moves in the direction of the blow and it's his turn to stagger away. His turn to spit out blood, feeling that one of his molars are loose. Fuck. But before he can gain his bearings, Murphy's on him and that fateful reign of blows that Connor had been expecting from the beginning comes down on him.

Grunting, he picks his head up and leans back to avoid another tight right hook coming his way and aims a left one of his own to return the love of a fist connecting to the jaw as Murphy's head swings in the direction of the blow and blood spews from his mouth and across the floor as he staggers back against the wall of the shower they share. "It hurts, aye?" A bit of anger creeping into his voice, stepping forward to deliver another blow to his brother's open mid-section and knocking him back with a deep growl.

Murphy's head is swimming, stars exploding in front of his eyes from the left hook and then he feels all the air leave his lungs as he's sucker punched, doubling over. His breathing is ragged, trying to gain his bearings as he takes a deep breath and straightens up to look his brother in the eye and gives him a shit-eating grin. "It tickles." Eyes narrowing after he speaks, anger in his own voice, body tensed and tight like a coiled spring as he awaits what Connor has in mind now.

Connor's right arm is pulled back, going to deliver the closing punch but then in mid throw- he notices that Murphy hadn't retaliated and now knows that he had made a mistake in not waiting and that's when Murphy moves. His fist slams into the tiles, shattering them. "**FUCK**." Retracting his hand quickly, it's too late- shards of tile are embedded into his skin and he's bleeding freely now, his eyes snapping to Murphy. Who is finding this funny all of sudden. And in a blur of movement, he reaches out with his left hand and drives his beloved brother's head into the wall, nose first. An eye for an eye.

"SHIT!" Murphy not having expected it, his hands flying to cover his nose as it begins to bleed just as heavily as Connor's knuckles. Blood seeps from between his fingers, dripping down his hands and arms. But by the time he's turning to look at his brother, Connor's already slid down the wall and slowly but surely pulling out the shards of tile from his knuckles. Body battered and bruised, different shades of pink and red. Just like his own. Both straining to get air back into their lungs and calm their rapid hearts. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph... the pain they were going to be in tomorrow. Fuck tommorow. Lord give them strength to endure the pain _now_.

"Does it tickle now, Murph?" Connor looking over at him as he slides down to sit as well, a truce called. The round over. But Connor knows he won. He gave the last blow, that's how he knows it. That's always how the game had been played, how the game was known to be over and who was the victor. This time around, it was him. The Virgin Mary had been his cheerleader.

Wiping the back of his hand under his nose, he then inspects it as he gauges how badly it is and licks away the blood that had run down over his lips and stained them red. "Aye, it does." Smirking as he looks over at his older brother for a moment and then looking away and tilting his head back slightly against the wall as the blood continues to flow, doing nothing about it and he closes his eyes. Content.

---

"What the f-f-fuck h-h-happened to you t-t-two?"

The brother's greeted by Doc's kind, though odd, speech as they had walked into McGinty's. All the men lining the stools at the bar turning around to look at them with arched brows and looks of _"What the fuck?"_ clear as day on their faces as they await an answer. The left side of Connor's face swollen along his jaw, his right hand bandaged as the rest of his bruises were beneath his black sweater and blue jeans. Poor Murphy having a swollen nose for all to see and a swollen jaw as well.

"Connor took it upon himself tae beat mae up for no reason." Murphy smiling slyly as he elbowed Connor in the side, the sharp intake of breath from him hinting that Murphy had hit a sore spot, literally. "Sorry." Muttered as he took his seat, looking to Doc. "Pint of thae Black Stuff for thae both of us." Connor taking the seat next to him with a little well hidden wince, leaning forward as he smirks.

"Aye, hae was actin' foolish. I had tae straighten him out."

The men all starting to laugh, Murphy giving a mock look of shock and feigning an innocent look before smirking and giving a shrug of his shoulders. He wasn't in the mood to argue with that, not until he had had at least two pints of Guinness in him to start off the night before moving to shots of whiskey to numb the pain surging through him. Surging through he and Connor, both. Their drinks arriving, they both taking healthy swigs, draining the glasses to well past half.

"Y-y-you know; it's b-b-better to d-d-die with honor than t-t-to have y-y-your cake an' eat it t-t-to."

There's silence for a long while, all the men looking at one another with furrowed brows before Connor leans forward. "I think yeh mean, 'Better tae die with honor than live with shame'."

Murphy leans forward as well, as if on cue. "An' I think yeh mean, 'Yeh can't have yehr cake an' eat it tae'."

The men errupt into laughter as Doc scowls and begins to throw things at them, a few slapping the bar as a familar voice is heard over the din.

"Hey, fuckass, get me a beer!"


End file.
